She watches me warily, long enough I feel uncomfortable. I slide off the bed to retrieve a towel from the bathroom. I wipe the mess from myself and then from between her legs, much as I’m tempted to leave it there. To stake my claim, even if it’s only in this room.
“Okay,” Grace says finally. She scoots higher in the bed, working her way beneath the covers, still naked. “I’ll stay.”
I crawl into the space behind her, pulling her ass against me. I wrap my hand over her, fingers grazing her chest, her throat, everywhere I can reach.
Soon, she’s asleep in my arms. I lay perfectly still for the rest of the night, feeling her steady heartbeat against my palm.
21
MORTAL EMOTIONS
GRACE
The next morning, after Sebastian makes me come twice—once with his tongue, and once with his cock—we leave the sanctity of his room for the far less welcoming auditorium. His inner circle is already there by the time we arrive. They stand against the far wall, their backs pressed to the wood paneling. Opposite them, the drapes are drawn to reveal three narrow windows and the early rays of sunlight.
Cora was right.
If this ritual relies on the full moon, the ballroom is a better location. The windows are larger, and there are twice as many of them. I should tell Sebastian it’s fine to do it there. Instead, I don’t say a word.
While Sebastian fed downstairs this morning, I gave myself a much needed pep-talk in front of his mirror. I can hope he cares for me. I can have hot sex with him and believe his intentions are better than they once were. But I canalsoprioritize myself and not cave to his circle’s every demand. Right now, that means learning how this ritual works without being reminded of my time as spider bait.
Sebastian’s hand claims the small of my back as he leads us through the auditorium. My body relaxes against his touch, and for once, I don’t fight the instinctual pull. I only step closer to his side and study the surrounding artifacts. They’re staggered throughout the room, each one balanced on a short wooden stand.
The werewolf ear. The unidentifiable feather. The vase with cloudy liquid. The mismatched teeth. The bundled grain. The liver and the heart and the long-dead rat. At the center of it all, a tall podium stands with an empty glass bowl and an intricately-carved dagger.
That’s where Cora stands. Dressed in her typical baggy black dress, she leans against the podium and smiles. It’s meant to be reassuring, I think. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing to calm the realization that the glass bowl is meant formeand that it looks equipped to holdgallonsof blood.
“All right,” she says. She pats the podium, drawing everyone’s attention. And still, I see the faces of the inner circle as they look from me to Sebastian and finally to Cora. Their expressions shift, trying to hold back smiles. They’re fidgeting like high schoolers with juicy gossip, and entirely too late, I realize what I should have long before I arrived.
They can scent me.
They knowexactlywhat I’ve done.
A violent flare of shame courses through me. I’ve always strived to be sex positive, to allow myself to enjoy sex, even if it’s a one-night stand. This is undoubtedly different. I let Sebastian fuck me, only days before he uses me as a sacrificial lamb. And now, his followers are absolutely judging me for it.
I dig my fingers against my bare thighs.Oh god. How pathetic. I suck a breath through my teeth, feeling the edges of my vision blur.
“And Grace, you’ll stand here,” Cora says, gesturing in front of her. She holds the dagger as nonchalantly as a pencil, twirling it between her fingers. “I’ll get the spell started, and at my word, you’ll slice your palm or wrist or what-have-you. Then, you’ll give me access to your magic. There’s a chance you’ll lose consciousness at some point, but I’m fairly confident we can finish this before it kills you.”
Cora moves on to each of the artifacts and their respective roles in the ritual. I should be paying attention, but my mind can’t focus on anything but blatant humiliation. I only come back to attention when Cora claps her hands together, as if closing a book. She looks from Sebastian to the inner circle.
“Any questions?”
Amelia asks something, but I don’t register a single word. My mouth has gone dry, and I’m staring absently in front of me.
Fairly confident.
They’refairly confidentthis isn’t going to kill me. Theythinkthey’ll finish before I die.
“Grace,” Sebastian says. I startle as he touches my face, gently cupping my jaw. He tries to steal my attention, but I can’t bear to look at him.
He promised. And he meant it. He’s not going to let me die. He’s not…
I close my eyes, fighting off a rush of tears. When a pathetic sob breaks from my lips, I cover my face with my hands.
“Grace,” he says, voice soft, urgent. “Look at me, love.”
It’s that word—love—that has me opening my eyes. He’s looking at me entirely too gently, like he cares. Like he’s truly concerned, and not just trying to get me to calm down.
